


Skinny Jeans

by ziyazu



Series: Playlist [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tattoo Artist Derek, Tattoo Shop AU, Tattooed Stiles, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziyazu/pseuds/ziyazu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door opens with a smash against the hallway wall, and Derek lets the momentum of their almost-fall propel him forward, slamming a flailing Stiles into the corner of the entryway.</p><p>“Get your ugly. Fucking. Jeans. OFF. Now.”</p><p>Stiles shoves him back, hard, and whips off his t-shirt, scowling. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Hale.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skinny Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> A series of ficlets paired with songs.
> 
> This one is [Skinny Genes by Eliza Dolittle](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxqtnWwLxYI).

The door opens with a smash against the hallway wall, and Derek lets the momentum of their almost-fall propel him forward, slamming a flailing Stiles into the corner of the entryway.

“Get your ugly. Fucking. Jeans. OFF. _Now_.”

Stiles shoves him back, hard, and whips off his t-shirt, scowling. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Hale.”

Derek takes his step back in like a predator, pushing Stiles into the corner again with one finger in the middle of his chest, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m what now? _I’m_ a fucking asshole? Oh that’s rich.” He slides in even closer, eyes inches away from Stiles’ furious ones. “You’re the one mouthing off to customers – _losing customers_ – instead of doing your fucking job, and I’m somehow the asshole here. You’re so fucking lucky you’re Boyd’s apprentice and not mine. I’d have fired your ass week ago. He _would_ fire you if he’d seen the shit you pulled today.”

He roughly rips open the first button of Stiles’ jeans, and Stiles’ eyes flick down, his angry face flickering with something else besides rage, though he makes a good job of hiding it. He swallows hard, though, when Derek keeps going, and when Derek slowly lifts his own shirt over his head, Stiles moans softly, ruining even the barest illusion that he was aiming to win this one.

Derek smirks, smugly. He knows he’s won. He’d won long before they adiosed the last freshly-tattooed scumbag out the door tonight. He’d even won before Stiles picked a fight with a deadbeat dad about Obamacare while Derek tried to get a placement he liked. He’d won around the time Stiles dropped the tray of inks as Derek stood to stretch out his cramped shoulders mid-afternoon, t-shirt riding up his torso. He won when Stiles walked in the fucking door three months ago, really, and he’s never stopped winning. He reaches one hand out now to tilt Stiles’ chin up, force him to meet his gaze again, and those golden-bright eyes fire into his.

He bites his lip, pleased. The way Stiles is looking at him right now, Derek won’t be doing much tonight except lying back and enjoying the show. He loves it when Stiles is too pissed at him to let him do just about anything at all. Sometimes when he’s feeling lazy he’ll pick a dumb fight just to watch Stiles finger himself furiously, slapping away all proffered helping hands with a bitten-off, “ _Fuck_ you,” clambering astride and gasping with the stretch, riding Derek hard and fast until they both break, clawing at each other as they come, hands grasping coloured skin inked rich and intricate.

Now he slides his hand down, cupping Stiles through his moronic skinny jeans – _maroon_ , honestly – and squeezing, feeling the answering throb in his own pants as Stiles gasps, long, slender fingers grasping wildly at Derek’s biceps, teeth biting to catch on the tip of his cherry-red tongue before he glares hard, seething. He’s still angry, so much more than riled up, and Derek loves it.

He leans in, hungry, and Stiles surges to meet him, curves his mouth into a dirty smile as his hand reaches to grip the back of Derek’s neck, and they tumble down the hallway towards the bedroom.

As Stiles bites his neck, leaving a scathing red bruise that will purple and smart, Derek thinks he might let Boyd to take the day off more often.

 


End file.
